Waiting
by Lady Patriot
Summary: Surprise's crew just before the action aboard Acheron.


**Title:** Waiting

**Rating:** K (Suitable for all ages)

**Disclaimers:** I don't own Master and Commander or any of the characters appearing in the movie. Neither do I own any of the Aubrey/Maturin novels.

**Original pen-date:**/b 15 November 2008

**Summary:** _Surprise_'s crew just before the action aboard _Acheron_.

**Author's Note:** There are probably some historical/canon goofs in here and I apologise for them.

This is my first story-writing foray into the Aubreyad fandom.

* * *

_"After all... _Surprise_ is on our side."_

The crew cheered and dispersed. The seamen were hurrying to their stations, many still cheering, and the Marines shifted away from where they'd been huddled close together against the curve of the hull. Sergeant Pickering looked almost relieved to be about to fight. Noble couldn't suppress a grin as the sergeant thundered out orders before he was in halfway to the companion ladder. If nothing else, Pickering was splendid in a fight. They were all eager for this fight, but for different reasons. For the Marines, it was an important, unignorable chance to prove themselves after Doctor Maturin had been shot. Jeremiah Noble and the others were determined to assert their worth. They had to. It was vital to their own sense of pride and purpose. But first they had to wait. Everything was set and in its proper place, it was just a matter of drawing the enemy close enough to spring the trap.

"Sharpshooters to the tops!"

Billy Farley and his selected marksmen hurried aloft, hardly needing to be told. Seamen were scampering up the shrouds too, some to join the sharpshooters on the mast platforms and others going higher to work the sails. Captain Howard ordered the rest of the Marines to stay below, just underneath the hatchways. When the word was given, they'd swarm up topside to join the fight. Noble shivered in tense, eager anticipation. Soon, soon. He patted the barrel of his musket affectionately. Very soon. They'd do their bit and all would be right again.

A face drifted toward him in the semi-darkness. Gabe Wiles smirked as he settled down beside Noble, noting how the other Marine was cradling his musket. For a moment, Noble was abashed, until he saw that Wiles was holding his own firelock in just the same manner. They were both of similar mind, it seemed. Grinning, Noble shifted his weight to the opposite knee and looked up toward the open companion-way. It had been an uneasy several days since Doctor Maturin had pulled the musket ball out of his side - Noble still marvelled at that - and the Marines had, for the most part, felt lingering guilt for the entire incident. It helped that the seamen had forgiven them, at least, but most of the guilt remained.

"Steady there!" Corporal White hissed. The brief rustle of movement stopped abruptly. Noble bit back a chuckle. Leave it to Sam Tate to try inching up the companion ladder to see what was - or wasn't - happening. When it was time, the captain would give the word. Soon though. Noble looked at the Marines gathered around him. He remembered the worried expressions they'd all worn when they had waited anxiously for word of Doctor Maturin's state, after landing on the Galapagos. Their collective feeling wasn't much different now, though they were waiting for the order to attack instead of the report of a succesful surgery. Waiting... it always came down to a matter of waiting. Noble looked up at the open square of light at the top of the ladder and found himself imagining the patch of sky to be the same as the sky over his home village.

Gabe Wiles nudged him with an elbow. "What're you thinkin' of?"

The muttered question gave him pause. _"This ship is our home. This ship_ is_ England."_ Captain Aubrey's words were dead true, on that count. Noble shrugged and cast away the thought of home. "Nothin' much," he answered and concentrated on brushing invisible dirt off his musket sling. To admit that he was suddenly feeling wistful for his home in Essex would make him seem unattentive to the present situation. Or, worse, that he was homesick.

Wiles wasn't fooled, not completely, but he offered a cheeky grin and didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he said, "Two farthin' says I knock down a Frog 'fore you do."

It was too perfectly timed. Noble chuckled despite his brief black mood and shook his head. "Ain't likely! Just you watch, I'll knock one down afore you're even topside."

"Two farthin' on it?" Wiles held out his hand. Smirking, Noble grasped it and gave it a firm shake. The two Marines nodded and grinned, and turned their separate attentions back to intent study of their musket pans. Somehow, the waiting didn't seem quite so hard to bear. Noble had his mates all around, they were aboard their ship about to fight for her, and there was no better substitute for that back home.

Topside, the echo of a tinny-sounding voice could be heard. The _Acheron_ was closing up on them, apparently. Sergeant Pickering tensed up and a shiver went through the cluster of waiting, listening Marines. Any second now. It had to be about to go. Their deception would be cast aside. Any second. Noble glanced over at Wiles and caught him nervously drumming his fingers on the barrel of his musket. Despite his own bubbling nervousness, the same as he felt before any battle, Noble smirked. He wasn't the only one feeling anxious.

_"Let fly!"_

The Marines poured up the companion ladders, hollering lustly to a man. Muskets were already firing from the tops and the first cannons were roaring out fire, smoke, and iron. Noble fired the instant his shoes touched the weather deck. Then he cheered when he saw a French sailor tumble over the side. Those two farthings were his! Wiles hadn't made it topside yet - there he was, but he was too late.

The waiting was over.


End file.
